What Made the Queen

Long before Gina became Mistress G—the woman whispered about in boardrooms and backrooms alike—she was simply Gina Michaels. A quiet, bookish girl with eyes too blue for her own good, living in a warm yellow house with flowerbeds her mother tended every morning.

Her father, Daniel, was a legal consultant for private estates. Honest. Soft-spoken. Her mother, Elise, was a piano teacher who hummed lullabies even while scrubbing dishes. They were good people. Too good.

Everything changed the day Richard Lansing came into their lives.

He wasn't famous then. Just the enforcer for a silent mafia group seeking control over the national museum treasury. They needed someone to forge ownership and export clearance documents for priceless artifacts.

Gina remembered the sound of Richard's voice the first night he came. Cold, arrogant. "Do it, Mr. Michaels. Or your family stops breathing comfort."

Her father refused. Twice.

The third time, Richard returned—not with warnings, but with bodyguards. Gina had just turned eleven. She was hiding under the staircase, clutching her stuffed bear.

She watched through the slats as they dragged her father to the ground. His screams didn't last long—not after the first hit with the rifle butt. Her mother begged, cried, offered them everything.

Richard laughed.

"I want your hands, old man. Not your honor."

When her mother tried to throw herself over her husband, one of the men grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground.

That's when Gina remembered the pantry.

She scrambled, silent and quick, opening the kitchen door and pulling her mother inside, pressing a finger to her lips.

"Don't scream," she whispered, closing the door on her mother's trembling figure.

She returned just in time to see blood staining the floorboards. Her father was no longer moving. Richard wiped his boots on the carpet like it was nothing.

He never saw Gina.

But Gina saw everything.

That night birthed the blueprint of her power. She didn't just survive. She plotted.

The girl who once wore sundresses and recited poetry would become the most strategic underworld queen of her time.

And she would never forget that laughter.

Richard Lansing's laughter.